Dudley's Daughter
by kumquatwriter
Summary: An unexpected morning in the Dursley household.  Currently just a oneshot, but if there is interest, I may expand it.


**Title: Dudley's Daughter **

Disclaimer: I own nothing, save a few original characters. J.K. Rowling created Harry Potter and his universe.

He was never very good at understanding things. The world was black and white and simple; if it wasn't, he didn't like it and would punch it if given an opportunity. He was slow, and he knew it. Not exactly stupid, but slow. On the rare occasions when he was forced to be introspective (certainly not the word he himself would use), he had to admit that he _could_ be smarter. But being smart took work, so he allowed himself to be stupid.

It was so much easier.

Ignoring things was easier too, when he couldn't help but understand them. He ignored almost everything about his cousin that he didn't understand—which was a lot. He ignored how his parents treated them—not only was it easier, but it was more beneficial.

But he couldn't ignore it forever, not after Harry had saved his life.

Dudley still had nightmares about that horrible night; the icy chill in the air, the feeling that he'd never be happy again. And the memories…oh, everything he'd ever ignored came pouring over him, and he thought he'd never escape. He'd never forget that, nor the vague shape of his cousin standing over him, shooting what looked like a stag made of silver light out of his wand. It was impossible to deny what had happened, and he could neither understand nor ignore it. And, after those bewildering other wizards had explained all about Harry's past—well, even someone determined not to exert his mind if he could at all avoid it could understand just what kind of hero Harry was.

After that, Dudley couldn't quite ignore the differences between what his father and mother had told him about Harry and his parents and the obvious truth. It was the first true wedge between him and his parents--his previous lazy rebellions not worth counting. Fighting, drinking, and minor vandalism didn't put any kind of chasm between him and his parents; in fact, he was quite certain that his father at least approved of Dudley's activities. And the status quo had been just dandy.

But after the first wedge, he'd started to pull away from his father, in ways he himself couldn't understand. If he'd thought of calling it perspective, he would have. It didn't change things much; by seventeen, Dudley had no idea how to alter the course of his life. Now, nearing forty, he'd followed every step of the way in his dad's footsteps, ignoring the misery he couldn't understand. He'd married the rosy, sonsy daughter of one of his father's coworkers, and had gone to work at Grunnings Drills as soon as he'd finished school (a year behind, as the whole family had gone into hiding for a year when Dudley was seventeen). He was the father of two round, thick-headed boys that were just like him, and one rosy, surprisingly pretty daughter who utterly confounded him.

Vernon, Dudley's father, had died of a heart attack over ten years ago, whereupon his mother had come to live with him and his wife. Dudley and his wife, Mary Rose, accepted this without question, and the house was overall quite peaceful. His mother (who now insisted on being called Nana) doted lavishly on all three of the children, favoring Dudley Junior a bit, but not to an extent that Branton and Emmeline grew restless. Dudley kept an unusually sharp eye on this; he worried more as Emmie got older. Emmie had vivid green eyes that Dudley recognized when she was an infant, and dark red hair that he'd never seen on anyone else in the family. As she got older, he couldn't deny that she resembled more and more the strange, moving pictures that Harry had let him see once; Emmie looked unmistakably (and remarkably) like her long-dead and longer-denied Aunt Lily.

Dudley ignored this (as he did most things that bothered him or forced him to think), but the memory of Harry locked in the cupboard under the stairs would force itself into the forefront of his mind more often than he would have liked.

It was early one morning in June, just before Emmie's birthday. Junior and Branton, who were fifteen and thirteen, were stuffing their breakfasts in their mouths while simultaneously trying to watch the telly, type on their computers, and have a fistfight. They were arguing over where the family should go on holiday (an argument that was entirely for show, as they weren't going on holiday this year). Emmie was surreptitiously reading a book at the breakfast table, and Mary Rose was bustling around the kitchen, her voice blending with his mother's as they indulged in their daily review of the neighborhood gossip. Dudley was just considering a second cup of coffee when there was a strange fluttering, tapping noise on the window.

It was familiar sound, though it had been a long time.

Dudley and his mother exchanged a look of undisguised panic. It was the unmistakable sound of an owl at the window. Dudley got up casually, grateful that none of his children had noticed. He slipped to the window, intending to take whatever letter the owl was carrying, but he found himself frozen in place with shock, his mouth hanging comically open as the owl fluttered past him, landing directly in front of Emmie's bowl of Weetabix. Dudley couldn't move or speak—because he'd recognized the emerald green ink on the envelope, and the heavy school seal on the back.

It was a _Hogwarts_ letter. For _his_ _daughter_.

Dudley and his mother exchanged another look. It was against both his parents' wishes that Dudley had told Mary Rose about his famous and unusual cousin—one of the few true acts of rebellion he'd ever engaged in. Mary Rose had taken the story with as much enthusiasm as would be expected from a bride recommended by Vernon Dursely. She'd ignored all of the peculiarities of Harry and "his lot" with a skill that Dudley envied, and on the rare occasions that Dudley mentioned his cousin, she strove to depict him as a charming (and wealthy) eccentric. She knew that wizarding community used owls to send letters, but not what _this_ letter meant.

The boys knew little more than their mother about wizards, but Emmie had a lively curiosity about her, and had asked so many questions that eventually Dudley had (against intense protest from the entire family—the second act of rebellion he'd committed) sent her on a short visit to his cousin. She'd returned, brimming over with stories of "Uncle" Harry and "Aunt" Ginny, of "Uncle" Ron and "Aunt" Hermione, of their fascinating children, and all sorts of wondrous things she'd learned about. Dudley had watched closely to see that she wasn't punished for this—the family steadfastly ignored Emmie's stories until she stopped telling them. He felt his heart sink and a flood of hot panic invade his stomach as Emmie leaped from her chair.

"It's a Hogwarts letter! I am a witch! I am, I am! Uncle Harry said I would be!" she sang out, pulling the letter from the owl's beak (the sleek, distinguished owl giving a single hoot before flying back out the window). Dudley forced a smile.

"Well. So…" he began, unable to think of a single thing to say. He shot a venomous look at his mother, turning to make sure his wife and sons saw it too. He didn't like the idea of a witch in _his_ family any more than they did, but he wouldn't ignore his little girl being treated as Harry had been. He wouldn't _allow_ it.

Another owl swooped in through the still-open window, this one perching almost daintily on Dudley's head. Dudley reached up to retrieve the letter—this one was clearly to him. He was surprised that he still recognized his cousin's handwriting.

_Dear Dudley,_

_We've gotten word that little Emmeline has been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Although we both know that this won't be the happiest news for you, we would still like to extend our congratulations. Should you_ _like, Ginny and I would be happy to meet you in London this July the sixteenth to help you find Emmie's school supplies. Please send your reply with this owl. _

_All the best,_

_Harry_

Dudley sighed. He hadn't seen Harry since Emmie's christening; probably the greatest rebellion he'd ever engaged in was to invite Harry and his family to his own wedding, and later to his children's christenings. He still remembered his father's swelled, furious face at the sight of Harry. But Dudley knew that this was far beyond his abilities to deal with. Silently, he handed the note to his wife, but his mother snatched the letter from his fingers.

"Well, that's some nerve, isn't it?" she spat, looking furious. "The idea that he's _monitoring_ what goes on in a _decent family_ like ours…" She muttered something under her breath that made Mary Rose give her a sharp look.

"Daddy?" Emmie said hopefully, hugging her letter to her chest. She glanced at her brothers, then away quickly at the stupid but aggressive looks on their faces.

Dudley walked deliberately to the kitchen counter, where Mary Rose kept a box of stationery. Ignoring the strangled noises that his mother was making, and the quiet tsk-ing noise that his wife was hissing, he took out a piece of paper, garishly decorated with violently pink cabbage roses. An equally pink pen was set with geometric precision next to the box, and he took it in hand. Refusing to look at anyone, he wrote his reply.

_Dear Harry_, (he wrote)

_Where and when do we meet? I don't know what Emmie needs, but we'll get her whatever it is. If you could send details by normal_

He crossed this out and reconsidered

_by muggle post, I would appreciate it. Emmie is very excited._

He thought a little more, realizing that he could no longer remember the ages, or even the names, of his cousin's children.

_Hoping your family is well,_

_Dudley_

_P.S. Please forgive the pouffy stationery. It belongs to my wife._

Deliberately, he folded the letter and sealed it in a pink, flowery envelope. Grimacing at the whiff of perfume that came from the paper, he wrote his cousin's name across the envelope and handed it to the owl, which took off immediately.

His mother shrieked. "Dudders! You aren't seriously going to…"

He raised a hand. "Mother," he began. "Mary Rose, we don't know what Emmie needs, and Harry does. I will take Emmie to London for her school things." He put a hand gently on his daughter's shoulder. "Emmie," he said tenderly, "I don't know about this whole witch business, but whatever makes my little girl happy will be worth it." He looked around the table, and sighed, pulling her into his arms.

"Just mind you don't do any…you know what…around the house."


End file.
